I'm back in the bus on a Sunday evening

My beloved home town, once again I'm leaving

To partake a journey, through lush green mountains

Studded all over by nature's falling fountains

But on these twisted roads, so oft do I ride

That it seems like an eon since they've had me surprised

So with closed eyes, I reminisce, go back to who I was and look at who
I am

And everything seems to have worked out, almost to a plan

I open my eyes to my present and look out again

To be greeted by a sleet of water, running down the pane

I look at the little streams pushed to slant against their will

And revel in my own fortune, by just sitting very still

But I know my joys are short lived and with this journey, they too shall
end

As I reach the other city, my persona shall transcend

Gone will be the boy, that dreams dreams that no one else can see

To give way to the man, who pretends he's forgotten what its like to be
free

Deceptive are these twisted winding roads with their picturesque
scenery

That flatter and blind you long enough, so you cannot see

The mundaneness that lies beyond, in the world of men

Where in the chase of illusions, real joys are held in lien

Maybe someday, I'll pay heed to all that seems in obvious need of
repair

Maybe someday, I'll pause long enough to be filled with care

But today I travel these twisted roads again, through the scenic
mountains

that rise and fold

To where once again, I shall live a normal life, where every morning
shall once gain be filled with just - the same old, same old....

Driftwood

Life meanders like a river running slow

Taking us like driftwood on her gentle flow

Sometimes the currents plot to bring us closer

Little driftwood, for a while we flow together

But the currents aren't always gentle and kind

Some driftwood are drawn in, some left behind

But as is true for driftwood, we always float along

Along the changing scenery, dancing to the river's trickling song 

But no matter where the river plots to carry us tomorrow

I'll always be behind, as your currents I follow...

I often spend hours sleepless at night
No one to talk to or bicker and fight
I've got umpteen thoughts running in my head
But they aren't really leading me anywhere, beyond my bed
Deep into the night as sleep plays its elusive games
I always argue with me and always end up with the blame
Till the silence of my house finally gets loud enough for me to see
That this is what is called being lonely